Page 54 of Fair as a Star

“You came here first, did you? Dutiful to the last.” Henry turned to face her. A muscle ticked in his cheek. “‘It will pass,’” he said. “That’s what I told him.”

She looked up at him in confusion.

“He was young. Not long out of university. I told him that there would be time enough for courtship and marriage after he was established. I didn’t comprehend the depth of the affection he held for you. That he would continue to hold for you, despite time and distance. Had I understood…” He ran a hand over his hair. “Well, it makes little difference now, does it.”

Her heart thumped heavily. “For heaven’s sake, Henry. If you knew how he felt, why did you propose to me?”

“Because it was the rational thing to do. You suited Rivenhall Park. You suited me. Whereas Mark’s feelings…”

“You thought them irrational.”

Henry shrugged. “The man who is a slave to his emotions is no man at all. I had no wish for either of my brothers to end up like our father.”

Beryl felt an unwilling surge of pity for him. As the heir, he’d been shouldered with a world of burdens after his father’s death. It had been his responsibility to revive the estate, and to see to the welfare of two brothers not much younger than he was himself. Henry had done that, and more. But something had been lost in the bargain. “Loving someone isn’t a weakness,” she said. “Even if it’s wild and dangerous and defies all common sense.”

His lips compressed. “And here we are again. Back at the same old argument over your sister and that horse.”

“Winnifred loves him,” Beryl said. “And I love her.” She once again withdrew the banknotes from her reticule. “It needn’t be anything more than a business transaction. Just like one you would make with a gentleman at the sales in London.”

“That simple, is it?”

“If you’ll let it be.” When he made no move to take the money, she set it down on the small gilt desk in the corner of the parlor. “I shall leave it here. And when you are more yourself, you can draw up a bill of sale.”

“More myself,” Henry repeated. “You are mistaken, Miss Burnham. I am now as I ever was. As for that horse, I wish to God I’d never set eyes on him.” He retrieved the banknotes, thrusting them into the inner pocket of his coat. “Forgive me, but I’ve spent enough time on this nonsense. My steward awaits me.”

With that, he bowed and abruptly took his leave.

Beryl was left standing in the small parlor, her heart filled with a mingled sense of sorrow and relief. There was something else there, too. A longing to see Mark, so keen she fairly vibrated with the sensation.

And she would see him. Soon, but not yet.

She still had her mother and Aunt Hortensia to deal with.

“Your Worth wedding dress,” Mama said. “I still can’t believe it. To think it’s to be displayed in the window of Malvern’s Emporium like so much dirty linen.”

“It’s hardly that.” Beryl linked her arm through her mother’s as they strolled through the rose garden. It was only the two of them. Aunt Hortensia had retired to bed early, still grumbling about Beryl’s duplicity, and Winnifred had returned to the stables, thrilled beyond measure at the prospect that Vesper might soon officially be hers.

“It may as well be our dirty linen we’re airing,” Mama said. “Everyone in the county will know why that dress is there. They’ll all stop and whisper over it. You’ll never be able to hold your head up again.”

“People will talk,” Beryl conceded. Ernest walked along with her, stopping intermittently to sniff at the shrubbery. It was a balmy evening, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the fragrant blooms.

She’d hoped there might be time to call at the vicarage, but the day had slipped away from her, taken up with arguments, confrontations, and an outpouring of tears. Even Winnifred had wept, though hers had been tears of joy.

“If the gossip becomes too much to bear,” Mama said, “I shall persuade your aunt to take you away again.”

Beryl recalled Aunt Hortensia’s reaction to the news of her broken betrothal. “She isn’t likely to. I’m no longer in her good graces. Far from it.”

“Nonsense. You mustn’t heed the things she said this evening. You gave her a shock, that’s all. A woman her age doesn’t like to have her plans thwarted.” She squeezed Beryl’s arm. “I’ll speak to her in the morning. She’ll soon come round.”

“What about you, Mama?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you terribly disappointed that I’ve called things off with Henry?”

“I am,” Mama said frankly. “But not for the reasons you imagine. The loss of him won’t reduce us to penury. My own income is sufficient to our needs at present, so long as we continue to live simply. As for the rest of it, your aunt occasionally provides when the whim takes her.”

“Why, then?”